


The Angel 'Castielle'

by CharmsDealer



Series: Female Vessel - Alt Season 4 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel in Alternate Vessels, F/M, Female Castiel, Hell Trauma, POV Dean Winchester, Past Violence, sexism/objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmsDealer/pseuds/CharmsDealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Season 4 - Castiel's vessel is Melanie Novak, twin sister of James Novak.</p><p>Mentions of Dean's time in hell and his coping with life topside. Follows the scene where Dean and Castiel meet closely with the difference being Castiel appears in a female vessel. Dean regards Castiel differently- hense the tag for slight sexism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Angel 'Castielle'

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for swearing, a little bit of casual objectification, and mentions of Dean's time in hell. 
> 
> *Some dialogue lifted and tweaked from S4, episode 1. Prologue is made up of quotes from the show.

__

_“…It does raise a sticky question.”_

_“If he didn’t pull me out, then what did?”_

_-_

_“Hey Dean, what was it like?”_

_“What. Hell? I…I don’t know. I must have blacked it out. I don’t remember a damn thing.”_

_Thank God for that.”_

_"...Yeah.”_

_-_

_“…And we still have no clue what we’re dealing with.”_

_“That’s not entirely true,”_

_“No?”_

_“We got a name, ‘Castiel’, or whatever. With the right mumbo-jumbo we could summon it, bring it right to us-”_

_“You’re crazy. Absolutely not.”_

_-_

_“It’s time we face it head on,”  
_

_“You can’t be serious-“_

_"As a heart attack.”_

_-_

_“No Demon can swing that; not Lilith, not anybody.”_

_“Then what can?”_

_“Nothing I’ve ever seen before...”_

_-_

 

Despite what Sam thought of his plan, Dean needed to see for himself what kind of nasty had been able – let alone willing – to spring his undeserving ass from the pit.

Dean felt guilty about including Bobby; he was possibly exposing the man to a creature that was so powerful merely getting a _peek_ at it could burn your eyes out of your skull. The image of Pamela’s eyes sizzling out of their sockets perhaps should have affected him more, but Dean had seen, even inflicted worse during his stint as Alistair’s star pupil. He was able to keep his expression neutral, his tone light, even as he thought these things.

He was grateful that Bobby was doing this with him. Sam had been quick to shoot the idea down but summoning the thing was the best way to figure out its motivations. Dean highly doubted that it had good intentions and he wasn’t just doing this because he was reckless, or impulsive, or looking for some kind of 'closure'. He was taking a risk sure- but it was a _necessary_ one.

He was used to Sam being cautious but otherwise willing to go along with him. Things had clearly changed the four months Dean was dead. Sam no longer trusted Dean to keep him safe and that hurt worse than anything.

Dean flicked up his collar and returned to the sigil he was spraying on the side of the barn. The paint spluttered out of the cap. It hadn’t been cleaned in a while so it was all clogged up. The misty spray speckled his hands with bright flecks of red.

While he was thankful as fuck that Sam hadn’t somehow managed to pawn off his soul in exchange for his freedom, the harsh truth was; nothing came for free. Whatever Sam had done, or hadn’t done, Dean was topside. It was only a matter of time before _Castiel_ came a-calling, probably demanding something _fun_ like the blood of a thousand virgins…

Dean shook his head vigorously and devoted his full attention to his task.

By the time Bobby and Dean were finished, the old metal barn was an art project Dad would have been proud of. Dean stepped back to take a look at their handiwork and hoped at least one of the symbols would slow Castiel down long enough for him to get a good shot at it.

In addition to the various types of devil’s traps and protection symbols there was an arsenal laid out on two metal tables that Dean had dragged into the centre of the room. Almost the entire trunk of the Impala had been spilled out over them. However, looking at it now, he had to admit to himself that most of the weapons would probably be useless. The only thing Dean could really depend on was Ruby’s demon killing knife if it came to a fight. Knowing their luck, it would.

“...Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe,” Bobby muttered gruffly, breaking the silence. He was trying to reassure himself as well as Dean, but Dean wasn’t in the mood for platitudes.

Dean gestured to the spread laid out, “Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife…We’re pretty much set to kill anything I’ve ever heard of.” Left unsaid: ‘ _This is nothing I’ve ever heard of.’_

“I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“I heard you the first ten times."

The words came out a little more harshly than he meant them to. “What d’you say we ring the dinner bell?” Dean amended, trying to sound unconcerned, but the damage was already done.

Bobby just _looked_ at him. Dean squared his shoulders and _looked_ right back. Finally, Bobby sighed and turned to shuffle over to the tables to start the spell.

 _I’m sorry_ , Dean thought, _I really hope I don’t get us both killed_. The first time hadn’t been all that fun.

Dean let the invocation wash over him, concentrating on the _sounds_ they made as Bobby said them. It was in a language that was older than he’d ever heard. He felt it in his bones and wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of such a call.

“Well, it’s done,” Bobby said gruffly.

“Okay,” Dean said, putting down Ruby’s knife and picking up a gun. There was no reason to go for the knife first. He could be optimistic. “Let’s see how our friend _Castiel_ likes being pumped full of rock salt.”

 

\---

 

“…You sure you did the ritual right?”

Bobby glared at him acidly.

“I’m just saying. It’s been three hours.”

Something scraped against the roof of the barn. Probably a tree branch or-

Dean snapped to attention. It sounded like there were giant fists pounding on the roof and walls of the barn, moving progressively closer to the door.

“Wishful thinking but, maybe it’s just the wind,” he said, hopping down from the table. Bobby came to stand beside him, cradling his shotgun.

Suddenly the bulb over their heads shattered in a burst of sparks. Dean yelled and covered his eyes. He felt hot glass land on the back of his neck, burning the sensitive skin. He hunched over his gun and tried to squint through the glass at the figure that was becoming visible between the now-open barn doors.

The figure’s head swiveled, inclining toward the sigils Bobby had painted before it locked onto the two hunters huddling together between the two metal tables, or rather, Dean.

Their eyes met as Dean’s vision cleared and Dean thought –startled- _woman._

The woman’s loose brown hair fell past her shoulders, framing her broad heart-shaped face. She was drowning in what was clearly a man’s overcoat, one that could have fit Sam. The long sleeves swallowed her arms and the unfilled shoulders were bulky on her frame, making it hard to tell whether she had any curves under the thing.

Under her unflattering mantle she was dressed in a long-sleeved blouse tucked neatly into a charcoal-grey pencil skirt. Her shoes were practical, well-worn things with no extra heel on them. She didn’t need the extra height, looking to be roughly five-eleven.

She stepped carelessly through the devil’s trap that spanned the entrance to the barn, which either meant she wasn’t a demon or was more powerful than the regular hell-cat. Sparks landed on her skin and clothes but she didn’t flinch. The wind picked up the smell of burned hair but there was also a hint of something clear and sweet, like the smell after a thunderstorm.

Dean’s finger tightened on the trigger of his sawed-off, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull it. He felt like he was frozen, pinned by some unknown force. When he looked into the woman’s – the _creature’s_ \- eyes, he felt something pass between them.

Bobby’s gun went off, jolting Dean out of his trance and hitting the woman square in the shoulder. She barely staggered. Dean dropped his gun and picked up Ruby’s knife.

“Who are you?” Dean demanded, moving in a slow circle.

The woman continued to stare at him raptly. Her lips parted and her voice scraped out of her throat as if she’d spent time gargling with a bucket of nails.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” 

“Yeah? _Thanks for that_.” Dean lunged forward and buried the knife in her chest, right up to the hilt. He grinned savagely at her, allowing himself a brief moment to revel, but his feeling of triumph transformed into abject horror.

The woman smirked primly at him as she slowly brought her hand up, wrapping it around the handle of Ruby’s knife. The blade slid free with a wet sound and she cast it aside, letting it clatter to the floor a few feet away.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean breathed. He started to back away. She had him for sure. He looked up and saw Bobby had crept behind her, hefting a solid iron bar.

In one smooth motion the creature stuck out her arm to block Bobby’s swing without breaking eye contact. She used her grip on it to spin him around but instead of wrenching it away from him and dealing a killing blow she raised two fingers and pressed them to his temple. Bobby’s eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed on the stone floor.

The woman considered Bobby dispassionately. “We need to talk Dean,” she said. _“…Alone.”_

Her piercing blue eyes bored into him, and those were either ‘come-hither’ eyes or ‘I’m thinking of agonizing ways to kill you’ eyes. Ruby had shot that look at him once and he’d wanted to scrub his skin from the inside. What was it with demon chicks and trying to seduce him? His lips curled in disgust.

“Sorry babe, but you don’t do it for me.”

“...Do what?”

Dean frowned.

“You know... _it_. What you’re trying to do with the fluttery eyelashes.” The woman's brow wrinkled minutely and Dean felt a flame of embarrassment lick up his neck. What was he, _twelve_? “You know what, I don’t care. It’s not working.”

The woman finally relinquished her gaze and Dean fought to keep himself from keeling over at the relief. She wandered over to the table, her face impassive. “Your friend is alive,” she said. “He’s merely unconscious.” She picked up one of the scattered salt rounds and rolled it between her finger and thumb.

When he realized that she probably wasn’t going to tear him into bite sized chunks and force-feed him his own intestines, Dean allowed himself to kneel over Bobby.

Dean gently touched Bobby’s whiskery cheek and took a shaky breath before he moved his hand to the side of Bobby’s neck to search for a pulse. When he spoke, he could barely keep his anger in check. “Why don’t you drop the batman voice, _Sweetheart_ , and tell me who the _fuck_ you are?”

“Castiel.”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” Dean snapped, rising to his feet. “I meant _what_ you are, because I’m damn sure that you’re not human, you supernatural _piece of shit_.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed at him coquettishly, “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“Liar,” Dean snarled, startled at his own vehemence, “there’s no such thing.”

He’d called and called. Called for Dad first, cursing and pleading. How had Dad survived this place? But when all that met him was silence, he started to call for the people that were still alive. He called for Bobby, for Jo, for Ellen. People who’d had any shred of kindness to give him- not Sam, never Sam, because Sam was supposed to stay safe.

Dean couldn’t in his worst moment cry for Sam, but there were times when he sobbed, when he was broken and bleeding and so alone that he thought he would go insane with fear, when he was at his most weak. Those days he called for his mom. He pleaded with a God he didn’t believe in, but dared hope if it meant that he could be delivered from the agony and the ever creeping rage which was slowly taking over, dragging him to the edge of oblivion.

“This is your problem Dean,” she replied, unruffled, “You have no faith.” Castiel turned around slowly, the trench coat fluttering in a sudden snap of wind.

Lightning struck outside like a warning. Each flash lit up the barn, casting shadows against the wall. Dean watched as two dark shadows unfurled on either side of the woman, arching over her head. _Wings,_ his mind supplied, but that was impossible.

Fear spiked through him but he shoved it down. “Some angel you are,” he said, remembering Pam, “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.”

Castiel bowed her head and the light show stopped. “I warned her not to spy on my true form,” she said, “It can be overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that.”

Dean snorted. “You mean the gas station and the motel.” It was all starting to make sense now. “That was you _talking_? Honey, next time - lower the volume.”

“It was my mistake,” Castiel continued, “Certain people -special people- can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

He thought she might have looked disappointed.

“And what ‘visage’ are you in now, huh?” Dean swept his eyes over her. She looked almost insultingly ordinary for an angel. Her shirt was slightly crumpled and her left stocking was bunching around her ankle, like she’d been on her feet the whole day and hadn’t had any time to fix herself up. She brought to mind elevator music and barf-coloured carpets. “...Holy secretary?”

Castiel’s eyebrows arched. “This?” She fingered the lapels of the coat, poking a finger through the buttonhole and wiggling it. “This is a vessel.”

“You’re _possessing_ some poor girl?”

“It was her choice,” Castiel said reproachfully.

“ _Nobody_ chooses to give up their free will!”

Dean glared at Castiel for all he was worth. He was trembling with rage, but he kept himself firmly rooted to where he was standing. He didn’t know how to get the upper hand.

The silence stretched. He wondered if Castiel was capable of blinking. It was unnerving now that he noticed it how robotically she moved, how her feet made no sound.

“You don’t believe me.” Castiel took small, calculated steps forward.

“Why should I?”

“Because good things do happen, Dean,” she said.

“Not in my experience.” He said stiffly.

“What’s the matter?” Castiel asked, leaning forward. She looked deeply into his eyes it felt like she was staring past them, into his soul. After a moment she settled back on her heels. “…You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

With a shiver, Dan realised that she had plucked the knowledge from his mind. He didn’t know if demons could do that, read minds.

“So, why’d he do it, huh?” Dean demanded, “Why did Charlie send _me_ an angel?” He meant his voice to sound sarcastic, but the bite was gone out of his tone. He was just tired now.

Castiel canted her head and gave him a benign smile, like she was talking to a little kid.

“Because God has work for you.”


End file.
